Monday's Child
by WeatherWatch
Summary: 'Monday's child is fair of face, Tuesday's child is full of grace...'


_**I have taken the liberty of assuming the week days on which these characters were born. I understand that they may be incorrect. Shhh.**_

**Disclaimer: It isn't even remotely connected to me. Except the fact that I have manipulated our favourite characters to give them some exercise. All JKR's.**

**~~  
Monday's child is fair of face,  
Tuesday's child is full of grace,  
Wednesday's child is full of woe,  
Thursday's child has far to go,  
Friday's child is loving and giving,  
Saturday's child works hard for a living,  
and those who are born on the Sabbath day  
are bonny and blithe and good and gay.  
~~**

The girl hummed to herself while she brushed her soft blonde hair, counting each of the one hundred strokes. It was never more, and never less; always one hundred exactly.

Her hair was dead straight, not a curl or wave in sight, and it frame her heart shaped face beautifully, giving her an angelic glow as she sat in the fifth year girls' dormitory. It was one of her pet peeves of being a Slytherin, actually, having to reside in the dank dungeons below the lake for nearly nine months of the year, for it caused havoc on her skin and she had to use special products to keep it as flawless as it would normally be.

She rarely wore make-up, unlike Pansy, for this reason. Sealing the skin when one lived in the permanent dampness of the lake was not a good idea, and if Daphne knew anything, it was how to care for the outer appearance.

Daphne had a small, slightly concave, nose that seemed to tilt up at the end, giving her a pixie-like appearance, while her delicate cheekbones uncovered an air of aristocracy that directed one straight to her familial heritage.

The Greengrass family was old, though not as rich as the Malfoy line, and had made it a habit to become involved in successfully alliances and marriages – something Daphne herself could look forward to. She sighed at the thought.

Of a quiet nature, she would one day be the perfect pureblood wife; delicate, beautiful, and well-mannered.

Beautiful.

With a grimace, Daphne rested her brush on the vanity.

To be beautiful was both a curse and gift. It meant that she would be coveted by all, pursued by many, but loved by none. Only the wealthiest and most valuable future alliance would be considered; love wouldn't even come into the picture.

Looking into the mirror, Daphne observed her porcelain features with a sad expression before she continued to prepare for the day, putting on a pair of sparkling diamond studs.

OoO

The dark skinned boy was silent as he made his way through the hallways of Hogwarts. It was after curfew, but he had never much been one for following rules. He was something of a daredevil, though it wouldn't have been obvious to any except his closest acquaintances.

The candle lights flickered gently, and he moved, cat-like, to make sure he didn't alert any teachers or wake the paintings. He wasn't worried about Mrs Norris. The caretaker's feline had taken a liking to him during his first year, and he had found she wouldn't get him into trouble for being out after hours. It was one of the reasons why he was a cat person, rather than owl.

His shoes made no sound, and he appeared to glide over the stone floor like the ghosts, despite being corporeal. His ears picked up a slight sound, and it gave him just enough warning to gracefully sidestep the figure that suddenly materialised in front of him, stumbling in shock at the presence of another student.

One of his large hands wove around her waist to steady her, and she looked up both thankful and fearful to be caught out of bed.

A Gryffindor, he supposed, being this far up in the castle. Possibly a Hufflepuff: on her way back down to the Sett after visiting her significant other for a night time romp.

"I beg your pardon. I didn't see-hear- you." She explained in a whisper as he released her. She took in his features. "Zabini, right?"

He nodded once, wondering if he should know her too. He was sure he hadn't had relations with her at least.

"Lavender Brown. We have Astronomy together." She introduced herself. Ah, Blaise thought. Brown: a Gryffindor. Of the giggling type.

Looking him up and down, she squinted. "You're awfully quiet for someone so tall."

He smirked.

"It pays to be silent sometimes."

He added mentally that she should perhaps consider it, but refrained. He didn't want to start an argument.

"Where were you headed?" He said instead, letting his deep, rich voice coat the silence surrounding them. She cocked her head to the side in a half shrug.

"Just a walk. Couldn't sleep." She responded. "You?"

"The very same." He paused a moment before making a further peace offering that part of him was unsure of giving – having her with him wasn't really very conducive to 'not getting caught'. "Shall we continue together?"

She sent a lovely smile his way, and he almost returned it but for the rearing of his Slytherin education.

The pair moved down the corridor, one as silent as if he wasn't even there (Lavender had to check several times to make sure he hadn't abandoned her), an arm every now and then moving to steady the girl as the staircases moved. He himself never faltered.

When they parted almost an hour and a half later, he bowed over her hand and vanished into the darkness, leaving the girl to wonder how anybody could move with such effortless grace.

OoO

Green eyes opened slowly. It had been another night of restless sleep filled with dreams of loved ones and the dead. A weary hand rose to rub the scar that was half hidden by a mop of unruly black hair.

Harry was exhausted, both physically and emotionally.

He felt broken and alone now, more than ever before. He had lost Sirius. Sirius – his godfather – was gone.

A part of Harry's mind was denying it; the force of Bellatrix's spell had pushed Sirius back through the veil, but he hadn't actually fallen by Avada Kedavra. Yet, deep down, he knew that Sirius had gone to a place where he couldn't follow.

Harry wasn't sure what to feel when he considered that point. Sirius was more than likely reunited with James and Lily now, and the Boy Saviour couldn't stop the feeling of envy from flowing through his veins. It vanished in barely three seconds, but he had definitely felt it and it was anger that filled its place.

Anger at the world.

At Voldemort and Bellatrix.

At himself.

Harry rolled over on his mattress, wrapping the covers around himself more tightly. If only he had learned Occlumency from Snape, Sirius would never have been at the Ministry. The boy blinked tears away. It was all his fault.

Broken.

He curled his legs closer to his body and let himself fall into the pit of self loathing and depression that had hung over his head since Cedric's death the previous year. The anger gave way to immeasurable sadness.

He would always be broken.

The covers were brought over his head, until he was completely obstructed from view, and a choked sob broke the silence of the morning.

OoO

The gangly Gryffindor glanced at the space along his house table where Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger had sat for the last six years. The places were absent this time around.

From what snippets Neville had heard, it seemed that the Golden Trio were on some kind of quest that would help in the final vanquishing of Lord Voldemort. It would be the death of one or both this time; 'neither can live while the other survives'.

Neville felt disgust as he ran his gaze over the Teacher's table. McGonagall, Sprout and Flitwick remained, but the others – at least the ones who sat at the table – were all Death Eaters.

And then there was Snape.

The murderer of Albus Dumbledore was seated tauntingly in the old man's chair, his back ramrod straight and sallow skin half-hidden by his lank black hair.

Neville glowered for a moment before going back to his food.

There was a time, long ago now, when Neville couldn't bring himself to even sneak a glance at the Potion's Professor. But suffering and hatred had borne away any petty classroom fear and replaced it with anger and rebelliousness.

Neville caught Ginny Weasley's eye, gave the barest of inclinations with his head, and continued eating his meal.

They weren't going to sit idle this year. Dumbledore was dead, and with him had gone any remaining sense of innocence.

Neville hadn't ever been a leader, but desperation and survival had a way of changing people, bringing their best skills to the forefront. He would build on those hidden skills and destroy the Death Eaters' authority from the inside, weakening them for Harry and the others, and when the time came, he would fight. He would fight for his parents, and he would fight for Harry, but, most of all, he would fight for himself, and the life he knew he deserved.

OoO

The small group of teenagers gathered in the Room of Requirement released a communal breath that most were unaware they had been holding; Neville was back – with Seamus.

The latter looked rather worse for wear, blood trickling down the side of his head from where he had been struck, no doubt by one of the Carrows. Neville was practically carrying him over to where Hannah sat, a bed prepared for the Irishman.

She was their substitute Head Healer. She knew they looked up to her, and she did what she could for each of the students, young or old. She was a friend, a shoulder on which to cry, a motherly type who could make the Bad disappear, if only for a moment, while she hugged trembling bodies close.

Hannah wasn't much of a fighter, but she was warm, and kind, and safe. She was giving them hope on days where everybody seemed against one another.

Neville deposited Seamus on the white sheets provided by the room with a small groan. He was likely to be hurt too, Hannah surmised as she worked quickly on Seamus' injuries.

"Feck, Hannah." Seamus mumbled as she accidentally caused a sharp jab of pain in his shoulder. "You're as bad as Pomfrey." He joked weakly, and she smiled at him, glad that he wasn't yet broken of his humour, but his own face suddenly fell into a frown.

"When is it goin' t' end?" He wondered, latching on to her hand. She clasped it gently, but firmly.

"I don't know, Seamus. All I know is that while we're here, together, we'll keep each other alive and sane, and we'll be okay. You know why, Seamus?"

He looked at her expectantly, needing to hear her say it aloud.

"Because we all love each other Seamus. Everyone here knows what love is, and that is how we'll find victory." She kissed the back of his hand comfortingly, brushed back his hair and told him to get some rest before going to tend to Neville.

The other Gryffindor was looking determined, though his eyes glistened. Hannah seated herself next to him on his hammock, letting it swing gently. He didn't make any move to leave, so she wrapped her arms around him and held him close; whispering words of comfort, she carefully healed his physical wounds alongside the emotional.

She played her role, just as he played his. She was Hope, and she represented Love, and she would give Love and Comfort to anyone who needed it in these bleak days.

OoO

Beads of sweat rolled down Ernie's bare back.

He was laying bricks – manually – having taken a job with a muggle company as a way to recuperate after the War. He hadn't really wanted to stay in the Wizarding World in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, and the muggle world had suffered just as much, so he felt any services he could give would be better received there.

That had been almost seven months ago.

He was earning a living now, working on building sites with a team of other young men, all of which were muggles.

Dave, Rory and Miles were all around the same age as him, and the other two members of their group were older, called Jack and Lyle but known as Beanstalk and Quick to the lads. Jack was a thin fellow, and because of this and the allusion to the Jack and the Beanstalk tale, he'd been given the nickname Beanstalk, while Lyle had just about the fastest hands since Molly Weasley on the warpath, though he had no knowledge of wands or magic.

The sun was unusually warm today, but Ernie felt this to be more the continued absence of Dementors rather than an actual weather anomaly. He and the boys had made a decent headway on their current housing project, and Rory called out for a lunch break at about twelve o'clock.

"This bloody house is a mission and a half." Dave complained, running a hand through his sandy hair to ruffle it up a little.

"Yeah, well, we're getting good pay from this lot, innit? So quit complaining." Miles commented, tearing into his packed lunch with gusto. The other lads laughed, wiping sweat from their faces, removing shirts and tucking into their own lunches.

It was a strange camaraderie for Ernie; it was casual, and certainly not life and death, but it was a bond just as strong as that between he and Justin Finch-Fletchley, his Hufflepuff best mate. His ponderings were cut short, as their break was only small, and the trio went back to work, having to reach their daily quota so that they would receive the highest possible pay from the company's client.

He preferred it here, in the muggle world, building houses and being an anonymous workmen rather than a hero of the Battle of Hogwarts. He could make a living here, and see the physical results of his labour, feel the effects of what he does daily and know he is making something tangible and useful in return for money.

After years of being a pureblood son, with politics in mind for his future, it is a nice change. He supposes his long dead family members are rolling in their grave to see him doing something so muggle.

But Ernie works hard, and he earns his way from there.

He is placated by this.

OoO

Lavender knows that people think she is lying when she tells them she is happy. They believe she should be miserable and depressed and wanting revenge, but she understands that life it too short to spend it embittered and thinking of what could have been, should have been, would have been, if The War had never happened.

Her face is disfigured on the right side, though the left is as beautiful as it was before Fenrir Greyback had decided to use it as a canvas. She wears a headscarf sometimes when she goes out (mostly to be kind to others, who feel worse about her scars than she does herself); she finds it funny when people suspect it to be a religious affectation, because she decided before the war that there was nobody governing the world, only a Life to be lived, and then Death, eternally, which we won't remember anyway, because it will be like a permanent sleep with no dreams.

So Lavender lives Life to the fullest, gossiping with her friends, having drinks and working as a stylist for Witch Weekly.

Her favourite shoot so far has been the Golden Trio – she's wanted to tame Hermione Granger's hair since first year, and well, who wouldn't want to be in charge of what Harry Potter and her ex-flame Ronald Weasley are wearing (or not-wearing)? She quite liked how it had turned out: leaving enough to the imagination, but revealing just enough to sell an obscene amount of copies of that particular issue.

The blonde has lunch date with her best friend, Parvati, and the Indian girl's new, older boyfriend. He had visited Hogwarts during the Tri-Wizard Tournament in their fourth year, as a Beauxbatons student, but the pair met, strangely enough, on separate sabbaticals in America.

Lavender giggles when she steps into the café – the pair are looking dreamily at each other and she is almost certain that the boy is complimenting her friend outrageously, because the other witch blushes and bites her lip, smiling shyly, before catching sight of Lavender. Parvati breaks into a wide grin and beckons her over, explaining that they've ordered her favourite tea and that she looks stunning, and where did she find that stunning dress?

Things are good, Lavender thinks, and she can't help but think they might get even better when she spots Seamus Finnegan walking by their window, on his way to the other end of Diagon Alley. He throws her a wink, and makes a gesture that she should call him – he's used the muggle gesture since they met in first year, because, as he told them all at breakfast that day, 'dad's a muggle, mam's a witch'.

They've always been good friends, and have had many laughs together over the years. She hasn't seen him much lately, what with work being so busy, and everything else in her life going so right, but she thinks she will Fire-call him when she gets home. She needs him to make her life as perfect as life can get.

Parvati notices the inflation to her already bubbly nature, and smirks like Slytherin.

Lavender is too happy to reproach her for the expression.

**~End~**

**Shibuya. This took me ages to write, but I like it…**

**I found a little, ancient book the other day – made of paperbark like material – and it had the poem in it, and I really wanted to write this, so here it is ^_^**


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